Greenteeth
by Supernoodle
Summary: All Dean wants for his birthday is to hunt with his Dad, but when John finally gives in and takes Dean with him on what appears to be a simple salt n' burn, the teenager gets a lot more than he bargained for. Pre-series angsty Wee-Chesterness abound.
1. Chapter 1

_**I started writing this fic a while back for my friend on the prompt of Dean's first hunt. It has changed somewhat from the first incarnation and should only end up being about three chapters long. And I know I have other unfinished fics on the go, but I am a slave to the muse and can only go where she takes me – which is generally round and round in circles.**_

_**Anyhoo, this one's for you, Slicey McGore. And it's only two years late lol.**_

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****Greenteeth**

**By Supernoodle**

_**17th November 2009**_

**-o-**

"You sure you want to do this, dude?" John Winchester said, peering over his shoulder to look at his oldest son as they made their way through the shadowy, jungle-like gardens of the derelict hotel. "You don't have to. You can change your mind."

It was a cold February night, white tendrils of moonlit mist rolled slowly around the overgrown lawns and their breath left a trail of little ghosts in the air as they walked. Dean looked up at his Dad and nodded, hefting the heavy duffle bag he was carrying onto his shoulder. "I'm good, Dad. I want to do this."

He was scared, but John had told him that it was okay to be scared, and Dean clutched the sawed-off shotgun tightly in his other hand and took a deep breath to steady himself. He'd once asked his Dad if he got scared when he was out on the job, half expecting his Dad to yell at him for being stupid, but to his surprise John had nodded and smiled at his son. Clasping him affectionately round the back of his neck and pulling him close, he said. "Of course I get scared, Dean. Man, the thing I've seen - the things _you_ are going to see one day… Being a hunter is a scary ass job, but you gotta be brave, Dean. You've always just gotta try your hardest to be brave."

And Dean was trying. But now, as they trudged towards the old swimming pool with his adrenalin kicking in, there was a little part of him that wished he'd used his head and asked his Dad for a new pair of boots for his birthday this year instead.

**-o-**

It was three days after Dean's fourteenth birthday, and the midnight job was a belated birthday present of sorts. To go out hunting with his Dad was the only thing Dean had wanted, and John had simply gotten tired of the kid's constant harassment. John had come to realise that Dean could be a persistent little bugger when he put his mind to it. Not quite as bad as Sam, but enough for John to finally give in and agree.

He knew he had trained the kid well - trained both his kids well. Sam was only ten but knew his way around an assortment of weapons and could strip and reassemble a rifle almost as quickly as Dean could. He didn't show as much enthusiasm for the job as his big brother though. Dean wanted nothing more than to hunt with his Dad, and when John had finally given in and told Dean he could be his back-up for the hunt that night, Dean had literally almost jumped for joy, running off to pack their bag with ammo, salt and lighter fuel – along with a thermos of coffee, the first aid kit and the canteen of holy water, recently blessed by Pastor Jim. John couldn't help but smile, and almost broke out into a grin when Dean had asked him all seriousness if he should take the Glock or the Desert Eagle?

"You'll have the sawed-off, kiddo." John told the eager teenager, taking both weapons from the boy's hands, knowing that the recoil on the Desert Eagle would break his wrists.

Dean watched his Dad pocket the Eagle with wistful eyes. _Man, he really wanted to shoot that gun._

"So where am I going while you too are off being all Rambo and Son?" Sam muttered from the corner of the motel room. "I don't want to stay here alone. I've done all my homework and there's no cable TV. It's boring here."

John frowned, that was the only flaw in the plan. Dean's job was looking after Sam while he hunted. A job the kid took as seriously as John took hunting. John never had to give Sam's safety a second though while his boys were home alone. Looking at his watch, John sighed. It was too late to drop Sam off anywhere and there was no way he was going to leave him alone. There was only one thing for it.

"Looks like you are coming along too, Sammy." John said, watching as his youngest Son's face broke into a grin and his eldest's fell at exactly the same time.

"Cool…" Sam yelled, jumping to his feet and flashing his brother a sly grin.

"Aww, Dad." Dean began, frowning. "He's only ten; he can't even fire the shotgun."

"Yes I can!" Sam replied, indignantly.

"Yeah, but not with one finger."

"Well, you can't do algebra, _Dean_."

"Bite me, Sammidge" Dean replied, letting out a sigh – a sound that was entirely too old for him to make.

"Enough!" John yelled and both boys stood still and uttered the words _"Yes sir"_ in almost complete unison.

"Sam, you will be staying in the car. And don't even think about arguing about this, okay. You will not win."

"Yes, sir." Sam repeated, looking down at his socks.

Then John turned to Dean, whose pale, serious face, unlike his little brother's, showed no hint of emotion. "Now, have we got everything packed?"

"Yes, Sir!" Dean replied, a tiny hint of a smile reappearing across his lips. For a moment there, he thought he was going to be relegated to the Impala with Sam and he was just about ready to strangle his annoying little brother if that had happened. All he wanted to do was hunt with his Dad. All he wanted to do was show John that he could do it, could be a first-class hunter. He wanted to show John that he could be good at something too.

**-o-**

The old hotel was about forty minute's drive away from the small apartment where the Winchesters were staying for the next school term. The job had come to John from Bobby Singer, who would have taken the gig himself, but he was having a little trouble of his own with a Chupacabra down in Texas, as he told John down the phone. It seemed to be a straightforward restless spirit, a woman had been deliberately drowned in the pool in the seventies, murdered by her jealous ex-husband who had then shot himself in the head in the gardener's shed. A few years later, a three year old kid accidently drowned when he wandered off from his parents, then a couple of years after that, a twelve year old girl was found drowned early one morning - which was the straw that broke the camel's back and the hotel closed down soon after. Ten years later and property developers interested in knocking down the hotel and building a plot of holiday apartments, reported something weird going on at the site. A day later, one of the contractors, a nineteen year old by the name of Matt Cullen, had been found face down in the shallow end of the half-drained pool. Enter John Winchester. The job was a simple one. Hit the hotel, search for anything the spirit might be attached to and then torch it. Dean's job was having John's back.

"So what are we looking for then, Dad?" Dean asked his father, following him closely through the gardens. The ground was wet and spongy beneath their feet and the air smelled damp, like mildew and stagnant pond water and Dean could almost feel the presence of something malevolent watching them from the shadows, something slimy and wretched and he couldn't help the shiver of revulsion that ran up his spine.

"I'm not sure yet, Kiddo." John replied. He'd explained to Dean that the spirit was likely to be attached to something personal of the dead woman's, but the hotel was pretty much just a decaying shell now after years of being empty – whatever it was, it seemed more likely that it would be out in the grounds somewhere. Possibly even in or around the pool house next to where she died. He had briefed Dean on what he was likely to happen on the car journey to the job and Dean had listened intently, taking it all in and nodding gravely as if John was handing down the secrets of life the universe and everything. What John didn't realise was that is exactly what he was doing.

To a fourteen-year-old Dean, John _was_ life, the universe and everything, and to be bestowed with such secret knowledge by such a godlike figure as his Father was something Dean had been looking forwards to for a very long time. He was glad that Sam had fallen asleep under a blanket across the big back seat of the car – this precious knowledge was now his and his alone.

"So we're gonna head up to the pool house first, hopefully find whatever the spirit is attached to, and burn it. Okay, Dean?"

"_Yessir."_ Dean replied gamely, trying to ignore the crawl in his skin the closer they got. There was definitely something _off_ about the whole place, but his dad didn't seem to notice – or if he did, he wasn't letting on. Instead, John carried on through the overgrown trees and hedges until they finally came to a derelict glass-sided building. Most of the panes of glass were smashed or missing completely, some dangled dangerously from rotting wooden frames and the whole skeletal structure looked ready to fall down around whoever was stupid enough to attempt to go inside.

John stopped, waving his own shotgun towards the building. "That'll be the pool house then."

Dean stopped beside his Dad, putting the duffle down beside him, his shoulder burning from the weight, and looked nervously from the ruined building to his Dad. "We're not going in there, are we?"

John nodded. "Come on; let's head round by the pool. Might look a bit sturdier from the front." And Dean followed his Dad round what was left of the path until they reached a broken patio beside the swimming pool where the young construction worker had been found dead. There was yellow caution tape all around the perimeter and also across what was left of the pool house door, but John pulled out a knife and slit through it, leaving it fluttering the cold breeze that was blowing through the gardens and Dean shivered, despite his warm shirt and heavy denim jacket.

"You okay, Kiddo?" John asked again. "You look like you've seen a ghost already."

Dean nodded, but he wasn't so sure. Everything about the place was screaming bad vibes at him, and it wasn't just the heebie-jeebies brought on by the fact that he was hunting his first spirit – something was watching them, watching him. He could hear something hissing like cicadas but it felt like whispered words inside his head. Something was calling him and he turned to face the pool.

"Dean?" John called, looking round to see Dean take a few faltering step towards the edge of the pool. There was something in there – whatever they were looking for was in the pool, Dean could feel it as strongly as he could feel his Dad's presence behind him, and he took another step closer, clutching the salt loaded shotgun tightly to his chest.

"Dean!" John yelled. "Get away from the edge."

Dean ignored John's command and took another step forwards. The paving was badly damaged, weeds poking through almost every crack and the dark, slimy algae made the slabs slippery underfoot. Below he could see the water, black and stinking of decay, full of garden debris and other assorted crap that it had accumulated through the years and Dean wrinkled his nose in disgust. Suddenly something moved, a shape broke through the surface, and Dean saw a glimpse of something green and scaly before he leapt back almost into John's arms.

"_Sonovabitch_" He gasped, looking up as his dad pulled him firmly away from the edge. "Did you see it?"

John nodded, his dark eyes hardening as he peered at the pool, switching to full-on hunter mode. It made Dean kind of nervous to see his dad's demeanour change like that, his whole body tensing, ready for combat, becoming somehow bigger than his already towering size. Pulling a huge silver knife from his pocket he thrust it into Dean's hand, taking the sawed off from him and he pushed him roughly back towards the ruined pool house. "Stay there! Do not move from that spot, Dean. You hear me?"

Dean opened his mouth to argue, and then thought better of it. There were not many times that Dean actually realised it was better to keep his mouth shut, but this was definitely one of them. Standing in silence, he gripped the knife tightly in his fist and watched his dad pull weapons from the duffel. He could still hear the hissing – it was getting louder by the minute, and now he could pick out definite words – something was singing, wet and garbled, rasping like a toad and without realising what he was doing, he had begun walking towards the pool once more.

"_Goddammit Dean_." John yelled, shoving Dean back so hard the he fell on his ass. "Stay the hell away!" But his anger wasn't directed at his son so much as whatever was lurking in the murky depths of the pool, and he gave Dean a regretful glance, before turning back to face their prey.

"What is it, Dad?" Dean gasped, elbowing himself up and trying not to cry. He wasn't hurt, not really, and he was used to his dad yelling, but everything felt so wrong - like his innards were writhing around inside him like a net full of fish, and that awful, croaking singing, pulling him back to the pool, calling him to throw himself in, to sleep under the water with her forever. "Make her shut up!" He cried, clasping his hands over his ears.

"That's what we came here for, Dean. I'm gonna shut the bitch up forever." John replied. In one hand, he held a huge silver hook, and in the other, his k-bar knife and he turned round to look at his son once more. "Whatever happens, Dean, you stay away from this pool. It's a Jenny Greenteeth, a nasty bitch of a mermaid, and she drowns kids. So whatever you do, you stay away from the water, you hear me?"

Dean nodded vehemently, quickly wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye. Despite wanting nothing more than to get up and run back to the safety of the car, back to Sam, he still felt that terrible pulling inside him and it took everything he had to stay where he was. Suddenly, there was a burbling screech and Dean clutched his hands to ears again as the noise stabbed into his head like an ice-cold needle, and the Jenny reared up out of the pool and grabbed his dad by the ankle.

John yelped in surprise, dropping the silver hook as his leg was pulled out from under him, and Dean leapt to his feet, making a valiant attempt to grab him but he wasn't quick enough. His feet skidding on the slippery paving as he leapt for John's outstretched hand, and a second later, the Jenny had dragged John over the edge and with a huge splash, they both disappeared.

"Dad?" Dean yelled, scrambling over and peering into the stagnant water below. The only sound now was the frogs croaking in the shadows and his heart pounding in his ears. "Hold on, Dad! I'm coming!"

And grabbing the silver hook in one hand and the knife in the other, Dean ran to the end and dropped into the empty shallow-end of the pool.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Thanks for all the lovely reviews you guys have sent me so far - if I haven't replied, I'm sorry, but please know that I appreciate every single word of encouragement. And see... I wrote another chapter, and it didn't take me a year :-)_**

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**Chapter Two**

**-o-**

"Dad?" Dean yelled, voice echoing around the chipped tiles. The pool was not that big, maybe thirty five feet long and the deep end had the depth line still on the wall saying that it was ten feet deep, although the water level was far below that now. Dean was almost a third of the way in before he started wading through the cold, filthy water, feeling the sharp stab of submerged branches and god only knew what else dig into his legs as he edged forwards.

Mermaid, John had said. But the Jenny Greenteeth was like no mermaid he had ever seen – not that he was an expert or anything, but still. The only thing Dean thought of was when he thought about mermaids was that hot little singing redhead Sam had loved so much. And the Jenny looked _nothing_ like her.

It seemed to be female – long black hair, trailing like seaweed over a pale, vaguely human face. Bulbous reptilian eyes reflecting in the light from Dean's torch, glaring murderously at him as she poked her head above the surface of the water, splashing water at him with her webbed hands and hissing like a Louisiana swamp gator, showing off a mouth full of green needle-sharp teeth.

"Give me my dad back!" Dean yelled at her, taking another few steps into the water. His whole body was shuddering, hands shaking so badly he worried he would drop the torch and the weapons, but it wasn't just from the cold. John had told him stories - usually when he'd come home all beat-to-hell and exhaustion and painkillers had made him somewhat loose-lipped. He had told Dean about werewolves, and wendigos, angry spirits and poltergeist, and terrible things that hid in basements and under children's beds just waiting to tear the flesh from their bones. John had told him all about the things that should only exist in fairytales and nightmares and Dean only had to look at his Dad's face when he came home from a job to know there were real monsters out there. He also knew one day it was going to be his job to hunt them – his and Sammy's. But no amount of stories could prepare someone for coming face to face with a real life monster for the first time.

Slipping the knife into his belt and clutching the silver hook tightly in his fist, Dean took another few step forwards, trying to keep his balance on the slippery, uneven bottom of the pool – trying his hardest not to think about whatever the hell it was that he was treading on, but a few more steps in and Dean found himself up to his chest as the pool bottom began to slope sharply downwards towards the deep end.

Suddenly, Dean felt hands grab his ankles and dropping the torch and the silver hook, he grabbed wildly for the rotten old tree branches in an effort to hold himself up, but before he had the chance to take another breath, he was dragged under the water.

Thrashing wildly, Dean kicked out and felt his foot connect with something big and soft and opening his eyes, he saw his Dad's pale face illuminated in torchlight through the murky water below him. Lungs burning, Dean kicked off the bottom, and broke the surface again, taking a big gulp of air, before diving down to the bottom of the pool. John was kicking and struggling to get free of the monster hidden in the dark and Dean grabbed his arm and began to pull him upwards, and a moment later, they both broke the surface once more.

Using every ounce of strength he had left, Dean managed to drag John into the shallows where the big hunter coughed wetly, rolling onto his side as he struggled desperately for breath between heaving up the filthy pool water. And after making sure that John was still actually breathing, Dean pulled the silver knife from his belt and crawled between his Dad and the Jenny who was swimming slowly up to the shallow end. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold the weapon and so cold he could barely feel it, but there was no way that fugly green bitch was coming anywhere near his Dad again.

"Get... Out!" John gasped, grabbing Dean's waterlogged jeans, trying to pull him back, but Dean shook him off. "No Dad. I'm not leaving you!"

John began coughing again, struggling to drag the cold air into his tight lungs as little starbursts went off behind his eyes. "_Don't you dare pass out, you sonovabitch!" _He muttered to himself before managing to drag himself to his knees. Then reaching over, he got a tighter hold on his son's ankle and dragged Dean towards him.

"We're both g-getting out, Dean. And then I'm gonna t-torch that bitch and send her b-back to hell."

Dean nodded, and handing his dad the knife, he grabbed John's waterlogged jacket and pulled him to his feet, then up the slope towards the rusted steps that lead back up to the patio. He wasn't sure how he was going to get his dad up them, he could barely take John's weight as it was, his back felt just about ready to snap, but they didn't have an option. He could hear the Jenny hissing behind them, the wet thwap of her body hitting the tiles, and glancing round, he saw the creature hauling itself along the floor a few feet behind them.

"Oh _crap_, Dad!" Dean yelped. Up close and out of the water, the Jenny was even more monstrous. Mottled and bloated frog belly flesh on her top half, melting into a spiny scaled fishes tail where her legs should be and Dean could hear her razor sharp nails scraping along the tiles as she dragged herself up to get them. But as John turned to see where the creature was, he lost his balance, taking both of them down once again, and seizing the opportunity, the Jenny reared up, and pushing off with her tail, she sprung forwards with surprising agility, and caught hold of Dean's ankle.

Dean's cry of pain echoed loudly round the sides of the pool as her claws dug through his jeans and into the flesh of his calf, and a moment later she had dragged him out of John's grasp. Dean frantically tried to kick her off, but he was caught like a fish on a hook and the Jenny burbled with glee and began to pull him back towards the water.

"Dean!" John yelled in horror, dragging himself up and knife in hand, he took a deep breath and launched himself at the creature.

Rearing up onto her tail, the Jenny hissed wildly, teeth bared and dropping Dean, she held out her claws ready to defend, but John was ready too, and going in shoulder first, he tackled the Jenny, rolling literally head over tail until they were back in the shallows again.

"Dad?" Dean yelled, scrambling to his feet, trying to ignore the stream of hot blood trickling down his leg and into his boot . "Get out of the water, Dad!" And realising there was nothing he could do other than get in the way, Dean hobbled to the steps, and with a huge effort, he pulled himself out of the pool and headed back to the duffel that held their supplies.

Dropping to his knees, he upended the bag, spilling the contents out in front of him. There was salt, holy water, a can of gasoline, a flare gun, another couple of knives along with the handguns and ammo. None of which seemed to be of any use. He wasn't going to risk trying to shoot the thing in the dark while it was rolling around with his Dad, and somehow, he doubted that the salt was going to do much good. This wasn't a spirit – this was a living breathing monster... Then suddenly he remembered what his Dad had said just before the thing had grabbed him.

He was going to torch the bitch.

Grabbing the gas and the flare, Dean scrambled to the pool's edge, and peered over just in time to see his Dad bury the silver knife up to the hilt in the Jenny's left eye.

The monster let out an ear-piercing screech, flopping backwards like a fish out of water and arms flailing, it writhed wildly, churning up the filthy water. And John, realising that this was his only opportunity to get out, dragged himself up and stumbled unsteadily up to the dry end, where he fell back down in a heap against the wall, yelling his son's name.

"I'm here!" Dean yelled and John looked up to see Dean brandishing the gas can and the flare gun.

"That's it, Kiddo. Burn the bitch!" He yelled back and watched Dean empty the gasoline can over the Jenny's writhing form then point the flare gun, only hesitating for a split second before pulling the trigger. A moment later, the Jenny and pretty much the whole surface of the pool was up in flame and both Winchesters watched transfixed as the creature writhed, and hissed and screamed for what seemed like an eternity before bursting open with a wet squelch, sending black goo and chunks of white flesh flying through the air.

"_Holyfrigging__crap!"_ Dean murmured, dropping the gas can and flare gun as his legs turned to jelly, and he sank heavily to his knees. He'd done it. He'd killed a real life monster. He was officially a hunter now, just like his Dad, so why did he feel like puking his guts up all over the patio? Breathing hard, he rocked back on his heels and peered up into the night sky, gulping in the cold night air until he was sure his dinner was going to stay put and stayed like that until his Dad's face loomed above him, dark eyes blazing orange in the glow of the fire. "You okay, Kiddo?"

Dean nodded, not sure if he was okay or not. Everything was getting a little bit fuzzy round the edges and he swallowed dryly and blinked hard against the sudden dizziness as John pulled him to his feet.

"You're bleeding pretty good there, Dude." John said gently through chattering teeth, trying to stifle another fit of coughing. "Come on, let's get back to Sam. Get you fixed up." And kneeling down to gather up their scattered weapons, John packed up the duffle, hoisted it his shoulder and began walking slowly back towards the gates where they had left the car.

Dean peered down at his torn up jeans – he _was_ bleeding pretty good, but he was so cold he could barely feel anything and he was obviously not bleeding enough for John to be worried, so he guessed he was going to be fine. And with a final glance over his shoulder at the burning pool, Dean began to limp after his Dad back towards the car.


End file.
